


a king, a god, and a nonbeliever

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Elias Bouchard is Terrible, Episode 142, Gen, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 04, Telepathy (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 03:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19417222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Elias is in love, or as close to love as something like Elias can feel.At first, the awareness trickles into Jon’s brain without him noticing, just the same as any other insights he gains. Elias would be pleased with me, he thinks, with nauseating certainty.“Shit,” Jon breathes, running a hand across his face.A study of Jon during the events of 142, with interjections from Elias.





	a king, a god, and a nonbeliever

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, 142, for being my excuse to write some jon/elias fic, because i can't believe i hadn't got around to it yet given that i have read... most of the jon/elias on ao3.
> 
> this doesn't include any of the cool-ass theorising about the web being involved with jon or elias or the eye because i am not smart enough to figure out how i'd put that in. this is All Eye All The Time Baby.
> 
> edited 01/07/2019 to fix a couple of spelling mistakes, adjust a few paragraph breaks, and change a couple of words. nothing major!

Elias is in love, or as close to love as something like Elias can feel.

At first, the awareness trickles into Jon’s brain without him noticing, the same as any other insights he gains. _Elias would be pleased with me,_ he thinks, with a nauseating certainty.

“Shit,” Jon breathes, running a hand across his face.

All at once, he can’t ignore it. Nevermind his metaphorical _door,_ it’s like the knowledge is flooding in through an open window Jon never even knew about. All he can do is endure the relentless pressure of the tide washing into him.

Elias is fixated, besotted like a twelve year old with his first crush, and he wants Jon to know. Even in Jon’s deepest dreams, he has never felt so deeply _seen._ Seen, and _needed,_ despite his flaws or because of them.

Beneath everything, strands of true affection twist into ropes that yearn to tie him to Elias forever. 

It isn’t Beholding, Jon’s sure of that — he can never escape the Eye’s gaze, no matter how long he lives. It’s _Elias,_ and a desire so bright and burning that it illuminates all the dark cracks of the universe. He wants to keep Jon for eternity, or worse, for Jon to keep _him._

Jon shudders, burying his hands in his pockets to stop them shaking.

“I won’t be bound to you, Elias. Not more than I already am.”

Jon is alone, standing on the outskirts of a park by the Thames, but he keeps his voice low anyway. He’s certain Elias will be able to hear him — and on the off chance he can’t, all the better for Jon’s ease of mind.

“I needed the knowledge,” Jon says, not sure which one of them he’s justifying himself to. “It was the Buried, not the Dark. I’d hoped it would be the Dark, but—”

Jon exhales. The sounds of the river help to wash away the giddy high of taking a statement. Choking dirt echoes in his lungs, a phantom hand resting on his ankle, but the cool breeze on his face anchors him in the moment.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he concludes. “It’s still _something.”_

The knowledge of Elias’ unwavering adoration only intensifies. It pulses like a prayer in Jon’s brain, an ardent worship to its tone that leaves Jon sick and breathless.

“Could you _please_ stop that, Elias?”

There’s a flicker of amusement, a blessed normality in and of itself, and then the flood of awareness just— switches off. It’s almost like it never happened, but the memory remains, awful and tempting in equal measures.

It’s a shock, to be alone in his own brain again; a yawning abyss where Elias’ presence was, only moments ago. Without that terrifying pressure, Jon feels abruptly adrift and aimless. The absence of knowledge is as uncomfortable as the knowledge itself.

He reminds himself that he doesn’t want to understand what Elias thinks, how Elias feels, what Elias _knows._ It’s a blatant lie, even to himself.

He tells himself that he isn’t that far gone. That’s a lie too, but he doesn’t let himself realise it.

Jon tries to focus on the thousand other truths he could learn that don’t involve the fervent devotion of a man that he is trying to hate. Birds call overhead, cars pass by behind him, and the river rushes in front of him. All these things are immutable, anchoring truths, and they hurt no one. Jon can list every species of bird, every brand of car, and every mineral in the river, and the knowledge is utterly mundane.

It's harmless, and so frustratingly _useless._

Jon needs answers to his questions, not a thousand unimportant bits of trivia flooding his mind. He’d prefer not to think about how far he’s willing to go to get them.

As if in response to his mounting irritation, he feels the full force of Elias’ gaze turn back towards him.

 _You’re progressing admirably,_ Elias’ voice writes itself into his mind. _I almost wish I was there to watch you in person. You’re really… growing into yourself._

It isn’t hearing, exactly. Jon doesn’t have a word for what it is, except that he intimately knows the way Elias’ mouth shapes each and every sound. The rolling tone of his voice doesn’t fit in Jon’s throat, and it’s a kind of discomfort that he couldn’t have _imagined_ when he started working at the Institute.

“I’m not _growing_ into anything,” Jon mutters, leaning across a railing and peering into the river below.

He’s not sure he’s looked in a mirror since he woke up from his coma; there’s a part of him that expects his reflection to look different, somehow. But he just looks like a tired man with a few too many scars and eyes that cannot blink.

(No matter how he tries, and he _has,_ Jon’s eyes will only shut to let him wander his library of nightmares. He always used to hate rereading things when he was a child. It seems like a lifetime ago.)

 _Do you want to know what they see when they dream of you?_ Elias’ mild, agreeable tone doesn’t match up with the dizzying _reverence_ that is pulsing in the crevices of Jon’s being. The feeling is intended as a gift — no, a sacrifice, torn bloody from Elias’ brain to keep the Archivist’s hunger sated. The question, then, is an offering, safer but given with no less zeal.

“No,” Jon says, and they both know he’s lying.

Elias doesn’t contradict him, a hum of his amusement shivering through Jon’s mind.

There’s a wave of bitter relief in Jon’s stomach — if Elias had ignored him and shown him anyway, Jon could have _known_ without the guilt of admitting it. But then, that’s what Elias wants, isn’t it? He wants Jon admitting to his hunger, to the way he _aches_ for knowledge with a craving that can never be completely banished no matter how much he feeds it.

Another hum of Elias’ amusement pushes itself into him, and then the tide of awareness begins to retreat — slowly, this time. Jon still knows how Elias _worships,_ of course, but it isn’t knocking the air out of him every time he tries to take a breath.

For a moment, there’s quiet. Jon is alone with his thoughts, or thereabouts. He itches to get out a cigarette so he has something else to focus on. Unfortunately, his things are all in his office in the Archives; he just has himself, some change in his pocket, and the unblinking gaze of the Eye prickling against his skin like the gentle touch of sandpaper.

Oh, and Elias, who can’t seem to leave well enough alone.

 _That poor woman, though._ Elias somehow gives the impression of a conspiratorial murmur, a low purr that resonates in Jon’s ribcage. _She’ll be haunted by that forever. You’re doing our patron proud, Jon._

Jon freezes.

“I— I just needed to _know._ I— I’m not—”

He remembers the fear and anger on her face, and the way it hadn’t seemed to matter in the face of the knowledge she contained. It still doesn’t, if he’s honest. He’s sorry that he hurt her, of course he is. But she gave him another piece of the puzzle, and he can’t regret that.

A cold thrill runs through his stomach when he thinks of her expression. It’s half revulsion and half… something else. Satisfaction, maybe, like he’s finished a good book.

“I didn’t do this for the Eye,” Jon insists, but it sounds hollow even to himself.

Jon forces his breathing to stay steady as Elias’ laughter echoes in his brain. It’s the knowledge of how it feels to laugh with Elias’ chest, and how it feels to twist Elias’ mouth in a mocking smile. Mocking, but not cruel. Elias doesn’t think he needs to be cruel anymore.

They both know it doesn’t matter _why_ Jon did it. It only matters that he did, and he hurt someone, and he learnt something — and that he’ll do it again in a heartbeat. He is exactly what the Beholding needs him to be.

“Jonathan Sims, the Archivist,” he mutters, with resigned humour.

Elias doesn’t seem to have anything to add to that.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah remember last week's fic where i said it's hard writing characters when you don't know what's going on in their brains? this fic was that times 100.
> 
> i hope i did a good job of making jon understandable/sympathetic but also just. terrible. jon you're a bastard and you need to stop and take a long look at yourself and your priorities.
> 
>  _anyway_ you can find me on tumblr at [screechfoxes](https://screechfoxes.tumblr.com), i'm always happy to chat about TMA
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
